


Give Me Immortality

by brevitas



Series: Not the Face! [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:18:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superheroes are everywhere these days--Grantaire washes up in New York and promptly runs into the leader of the group he was hoping to avoid (and it's a violent encounter, as Grantaire should have expected).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Immortality

More than anything, Grantaire hates waking up after a death.

It's always disorienting and while it used to work well centuries ago, when he would wake up behind the general store and burying strangers wasn't high on any local government's to-do list, now disease is all anybody talks about and he ends up in foreign countries six feet deep.

He hates opening his eyes and seeing the roof of a coffin, and sighs when he realizes he's been 'put to rest'. There's nothing scary about this, not anymore; his claustrophobia was extinguished decades ago, after he had to spend two weeks digging his way out of a mass grave.

At least these days he's buried alone (usually).

He works methodically because he's done this a thousand times before and he has a system now; calmly he knees the middle of the cheap wooden coffin so the top caves in. Dirt slides in across his prone form and he pulls the collar of his shirt safely over his nose and mouth lest he choke. Nothing scary about this anymore, he thinks dryly. All in a day's work.

They've buried him close to the surface here and it only takes him the majority of the night before his hand blindly grasps at clean air. He pulls himself out forcefully, climbing unsteadily to his feet and shaking his clothes out to rid himself of some of the weight. Despite how cold he is, how hungry, how tired, he turns back to the gravesite and begins his second task of the evening; filling it in.

This isn't Frankenstein's story, after all, and he can't spare the time to fend off a mob fearing fables. The work is exhausting and his body aches when he finally finishes, mechanically bending down and smoothing the topsoil over the fresh grave with his booted foot. He stops when he's satisfied that it looks as it did before, and sets his shoulders to begin the walk into town.

(And why does he always seem to have the luck to be buried fifteen miles outside of a city? The cold won't kill him but that doesn't mean he isn't irritated while he walks and has to rub his hands to keep circulation. He can't even fly there--without knowing where he's going he can't risk being seen without a mask.)

He died off the coast of Canada if he remembers correctly, murdered by the infamous villian Inspector over an endless stretch of the ocean. He's unsure if The Inspector died when he did and decides to ask somebody but he has priorities, and first he needs to figure out what country he's in.

It's early morning by the time he hits buildings and there's only a few brave souls on the streets, mainly businessmen on their way to work. Many of them cast him sidelong glances; he's ridiculously dirty and his clothes are mangy, borrowed from whoever put him in the ground. For the most part he ignores them--all of them are in a hurry, and it would be pointless to try and get one to stop. He ruffles his hair at a man who's practically leering and gets a disgusted frown for his efforts.

Eventually he finds a young woman sitting outside a cafe enjoying a cup of coffee. She looks to be a student, and wears a backpack on her shoulders. Apparently the cold doesn't bother her as it does him as she's wearing nothing but a sweater and a scarf.

"Excuse me?" He asks, tentatively trying English.

She looks up and smiles. "Yes?"

He grins and sits down next to her, folding his hands in his lap so as to keep most of the grime to himself. "Could you tell me what city this is?"

She appears a bit bemused but she answers all the same. "Welcome to New York," she says. "I hope this is where you were trying to go."

He laughs and shrugs, says, "It's good enough," even though he doesn't care much for the United States. He vastly prefers the European countries over this one, and tries to spend the least amount of lives on American soil.

Seeing as he's already here, however, and broke until he can find a bank and bust into one of his accounts there isn't much to do about it, and he's good-natured in his response because that's all he can be.

He ends up sitting with the woman for a while, and learns her name is Annabelle. He introduces himself as Grantaire and she buys him a coffee, not once asking over the state of his ragged clothing. He inquires after The Inspector and she says with a frown, "He's still alive. It was so sad when he killed Flycatcher, don't you think?"

Solemnly Grantaire nods; Flycatcher was what he went by before, based on the plain species of birds common across the globe that are frequently overlooked in the field (or in other words, because he was envious of their ability to go unnoticed).

"How long ago was that now?" He asks casually.

"Nearly four months, I think," she replies thoughtfully and he nods, sips his coffee. Four months is a long time to be out but there's been longer spans; he's discovered that he only ever wakes up when his body thinks its 'safe', and that fortunately does not include the bottom of the ocean.

He stays with her for a while longer and they get on the topic of superheroes; she's proud when she boasts, "New York has quite a few."

"Oh?" He asks.

"There's this group called Les Amis," she says excitedly. "They keep the city safe. Not much happens around here anymore thanks to them, and a lot of the time they're off in that jet of theirs saving other people."

"That's nice of them," he says mildly.

"You'll definitely see them around if you stay," Annabelle continues. "Their leader is Apollo and he wears this stunning red and gold costume; he's really hard to miss."

Grantaire can't imagine; his Flycatcher suit had been all pale browns and forest greens, and the only adornment was the pocket sewn onto his calf to hold his cellphone. His friend had suggested a cape and Grantaire had swiftly denied him; while it would look cool while he flew, fluttering behind in some vivid color, it would also draw attention and no doubt paint a target on his back.

He resists the urge to call this 'Apollo' ridiculous and instead remarks, "He must get a lot of attention."

She giggles and says, "Yeah, there's a lot of gossip about him and the other guys in the group. Nobody knows who any of them are or where they live but they're seen together all the time, and there are whispers of trysts."

He hums a disinterested reply as he's more preoccupied with keeping out of their way than praising them or gossiping about their sex lives. He doesn't think he's really up for the hero gig this time around--his past three lives have all been short and messy, and he thinks it's about time for another few decades spent drunk.

She excuses herself to go to class not long after, and he promptly decides to try and find a bank. This doesn't take him long at all as apparently New York is crawling with them, and he picks a Wells Fargo to duck into the lobby of.

He spares a moment to thank his father for amassing such a fortune before he died, and to appreciate humans for being the greedy species they are. He needs only to wave around a couple thousand to get his way and he's known this for a long time; in every large city in the world he has a bank account stashed somewhere, sitting under various aliases. Most importantly all of them are set up to open to a password rather than an ID, as the policemen don't tend to bury him with his wallet still in his pocket.

He withdraws a couple hundred and shops for some clothes in a local thrift store, purchasing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt depicting a dinosaur. He's not overtly picky and is in fact just thrilled to be getting out of what he's wearing; a hotel room paid in cash and a hot shower later and he's fully dressed and feeling a bit more alive.

He goes to find a bar because his head is aching from the lack of alcohol and it's probably late enough in the afternoon, and while he's walking glimpses above him a flash of gold. He narrows his eyes to better see and recognizes it as a man's silhouette, flashing against the belly of the sun. He's dressed in a skintight costume of red and gold and wears a mask over the entirety of his face and appears to be standing on the edge of this rooftop in order to keep an eye on the citizens walking below.

Grantaire slows merely in curiosity's sake and walks down an alley to get a better look at the kid, figuring him for Apollo--what happens next is admittedly his fault as he really should have looked before he blindly went in like he did.

The pistol is a cold bite at the base of his spine and he stops immediately, startled but not afraid. "Give me your wallet," the thief growls in his ear.

Grantaire considers telling him that he's pretty sure there's a superhero standing above them but doesn't--instead he obediently reaches into his pocket for his money and nearly gets shot when the stranger thinks he's trying to pull a fast one.

There's a moment of panic in which Grantaire is pushed away and before he can do anything there's a flash of red between them. "Drop your gun!" The superhero yells and the criminal overreacts, as he is wont to do; he shoots three times and flings the pistol at them, then turns on his heel to run.

The hero wavers for a second on his feet before he falls hard on his ass, and proceeds to lay all the way down. He seems more stunned than hurt, but Grantaire knows that it's just the shock working.

"Fucking perfect," he grumbles as he kneels down, grabbing the youth under his arms and dragging him further into the alley where passerbys can't see. He's coughing blood now and his blue eyes are glassy; Grantaire knows that unless he acts quickly, even he won't be able to save him.

"Didn't even get a drink," he says mournfully to himself, gripping the dark red costume and tearing it at the collar. The three bullet holes geyser blood every time the man breathes but Grantaire has seen much worse; the gore does nothing to offset him as he stoicly places his palms against the stranger's chest and exhales.

"Didn't get any food either," he mumbles, closing his eyes to better concentrate. He's done this a few times before and he knows what to except; it feels something like being underwater and forcing all your air into someone else's mouth, sacrificing yourself so that they can survive. Unfortunately your body struggles because it doesn't want to die and it _hurts_ all the way through--in the end it's more about willpower than actual ability.

The superhero is staring blankly up at him but the bleeding has stopped, and Grantaire reasons the pinched expression for confusion. He's starting to feel cold and he digs his fingers in tighter, squeezing every last drop of immortality out of himself.

"You..." The man licks up a drop of blood quivering on his bottom lip and he's doing a damn good job of not panicking. "You saved me."

"Almost, kid," Grantaire replies, but he's breathless and he knows he doesn't have much longer. His bones are starting to feel like they're smoldering inside him.

"It's Apollo," the hero corrects, and Grantaire manages a shaky laugh (of course this pretty boy would end up being the superhero he was supposed to stay away from). "Who are you?"

Grantaire really doesn't have time for this shit. The edges of his vision are going black, and he's pretty sure he's nearly quit breathing. He says very quietly (but with a notable touch of good humor), "Tithonus."

A good name, he thinks. He used to wear it centuries ago and it's heavy in his mouth but he does not take it back, would not have even if he had the strength.

He shudders and collapses sideways, his final breath tasting dry on his tongue. The last thing he sees is Apollo pulling off his bloodied mask to see and seizing him desperately by the collar--Grantaire thinks, _Jeeeeesus. Couldn't have saved a prettier man than this fuck_ , right up until he dies.

**Author's Note:**

> so I was taking a stroll down memory lane and the Powerpuff Girls is on Netflix now? suffice to say I watched all of it while studying for Latin and Linguistics and this little nugget was born. I'll have a shitload of homework coming up so I won't have time to post it later and I figured, what the hell? I have time now!
> 
> soooo that is how we get to here, with the arrival of my superhero!AU that I hope many of you will enjoy. kisses to everybody who reads, /you're/ my hero! (get it, get it, superhero joke)
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest if you have questions, concerns or comments  
> (or if you want to just talk to me because I love everybody who sends me asks)
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> p.s. title is from the Lord Tennyson poem "Tithonus", of which Grantaire shares his superhero alias with.  
> "I asked thee, "Give me immortality."  
> Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,  
> Like wealthy men who care not how they give."
> 
> p.p.s. the series title is just something that made me giggle and I had to include due to my two-year-old mentality


End file.
